Masochist
by lightofhislife
Summary: Snape's boggart


**DISCLAIMER: Not my characters.**

Nearly four feet of parchment and the Granger girl managed to completely miss the purpose of the essay. Considering how intelligent she thought herself to be, she could very easily have read the prompt and replied to the question he proposed. Not brilliant Granger, no, she had to go into the history behind the harvesting of lacewing flies and at which times it must be done to produce which potions. Unnecessary; he had asked the reasons for which one may add it to the Draught of Living Death. Severus considered all of the different ways he could tell her to cease being such an insufferable know-it-all.

He stood, legs stiff, particularly the right one. It had a pinched muscle from the bite of that blasted dog from a few years before.

Pulling his cloak back around his shoulders, he exited his chambers into the hallway. It was nearly midnight; he had to patrol the third floor. Grimacing, Snape rounded the corner and began to climb the stairs. He was particularly exhausted today, not wanting to step higher to avoid the false stair, nor the one that caused a terrible racket when stepped upon. He did so anyway, not wanting to attract Peeves, nor having to struggle out of the ditch beneath the false stair. That would certainly exert more energy than it would be worth, as opposed to stepping over it.

Stepping into the corridor, he began in slow paces, wand illuminated. As he passed, several portraits cursed at him and demanded he put the light out. As he reached the end of that particular hall, he turned on his heel and continued down the hallway until he reached the beginning of another. He turned the corner disinterested. He often let himself become consumed by other thoughts on these nights. It wasn't as if anyone would dare enter the castle; this was a mere precaution on Dumbledore's part, reassuring parents and students alike. Then, for what value people apart from Dumbledore placed on Snape, they may as well have had a house elf on patrol duty in his place. The next major purpose was to catch students who were out of bed. The only other who was doing that at the moment was a cat, possibly the squib.

Snape continued down the adjoining hallway and retraced his steps until he was in the hallway he had begun in.

"If you won't put the damn light out, must you pass this place so often, man?" complained a straight-backed Veela with fiery eyes. Her hair fanned behind her as if her anger was potent enough to impel a gale.

Snape replied in the nastiest manner that he could muster, proceeding down the hall and into an opposite direction. He glanced at the source of a slamming noise, a hastily shut door perhaps. He was looking for a student to cast his anger upon, preferably Potter or the like. He sneered as he pushed the door open, the first thing he noticed being long ginger hair. The Weasley girl.

"My, my," Snape hissed. "Out of bed so late? Why, I'm sure that—" Something struck him; this was not a Weasley but a lovely girl he had once known, a girl with emerald eyes that once looked upon him with adoration.

"Severus," she seethed. Typically, she only referred to him by any number of ridiculous nicknames, any number that'd have gotten any other person hexed. She only called him Severus if the matter was quite severe or when she was feeling hostility provoking unfriendliness. She began shaking her head in such a way that her hair fanned around her like that of the Veela that he had just cursed at. "I can't believe I was ever friends with you. James was right about you, you disgusting toerag," she growled.

Lily was the sort of girl, through all of the time he had known her, who became very ugly when angry, and as such, became angry only in the rare instances in which people she loved were being harmed. Severus only became the source of her anger once, but that once was one time enough to be the last time he would ever speak with her.

After that, she mostly stayed with James, the source of his misery. The Quidditch player, the popular one.

The one who produced the arrogant little Potter, a near exact clone of his father.

"I can't understand how you became such a horrid person," Lily said, eyes glistening beneath furrowed brows. "I don't understand it at all. Maybe I felt bad," she was shaking her head again, slowly this time. "Felt bad that you couldn't make friends. James is a far better man than you," she stated simply, expression more relaxed.

Snape was conflicted in that moment. After all the time that had elapsed, he still felt for her as he had when they were the best of friends at Hogwarts, before James took her away, before the Dark Lord made him stop caring for but the moment it took for James to take her away. Snape tensed, thinking about the time he could have had if he had never made that misstep. He couldn't bear changing the boggart into something. It was ridiculous. Lily was too beautiful to turn into something funny, despite the scathing feeling erupting from his ears at the sound of her words. The words her the poison, but her voice was the antidote. Balanced together, he felt like he should take the moment to enjoy the sight of her.

So long as the thought of the words destroyed him, he would never lose her face.

Taking a moment, he sighed the words it took to make her leave him feeling like a masochist.

"Riddikulus."


End file.
